Eponine's Freedom
by lifeandart
Summary: In her dying moments Eponine reflects on her life, loves and losses.


_(Lyrics belong to Lana Del Rey, and everything else to Les Mis. This is my first fanfic and I just thought this song suited Eponine's character quite well. All thoughts and opinions are much appreciated!)_

_I was in the winter of my life, and the men I met along the road were my only summer. At night I fell asleep with visions of myself dancing and laughing and crying with them._

As she lay there in her beloved's arms she let a small smile dance upon her lips. In her short life she had never expected to be consumed with so much love that those silly bourgeois rebels had shown her. Little had she known how much would change when Marius had taken her along to one of his meetings at the Cafe. Where they had laughed at Grantaire's useless squiffy logic after one too many bottles of liquor, or danced to patriotic songs led by the marble man himself. It was those memories in her mind when she had to return to her father's, or when Montparnasse appeared...

_Three days down the line of being on an endless world tour and memories of them were the only things that sustained me, and my only real happy times._

Especially when he appeared. She would never reveal her sordid life on the streets to the boys. Not even under Enjolras's intense quizzical stare. Those thoughts did not matter when she was with them, no time to dwell on such things when the future of their beloved nation was to be planned.

_I was a singer, not a very popular one, but I once had dreams of being a beautiful poet. But upon a series of unfortunate events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky that I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken._

Singing had been her salvation. Those cold winter nights down at the river, her voice the only company she had. How her heart would leap when Marius joined her. Oh Marius. She looked up into his eyes and saw the fear, the anguish, the pain. She smiled when she heard his sorrowful voice for the last time. And although she knew he was hurting, she was glad he had found his beloved Cosette, she was going to sing about him now, she would be the singer in his life.

_But I really didn't mind because I knew it took having everything you ever wanted and then losing it again to know what true freedom is. _

She could almost taste her freedom. No more beatings, no more petty crime, no more longing for so much. She could remember those pretty little dolls she had when her family were still in Montpelier. Now she only had her imagination to play with. Marius was her new doll, like that one in the window all those years ago, the one that Cosette had taken away from her, and was about to do again.

_When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I had been living they asked me why. But there's no use in talking to people who have a home, they no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people, for home to be wherever you lie your head._

She could hear more of her companions, they seemed far away, but she could hear their grief. It was like when they found her in the wrong part of town, her chemise ripped and tainted with blood, a few francs in her hand. That they would never understand. The security of being in a man's arms, she had always wished to die in her loved one's arms. She was glad that she had managed this, out of anything. And maybe she had finally found a home.

_I was always an unusual girl, my mother told me that I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing me due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and wavering as the ocean._

Maybe now her morals were pointing in the right direction. She had chosen to die. She knew she would when she climbed the barricade. Maybe it would be romantic. Her and the other fallen rebels would smile at their efforts for their dear patria. Enjolras would join her and that relieved her of her worries somewhat. They could watch over Marius, laugh and be jealous over his unabashed love, maybe Grantaire would be there to help ease the pain with some of his liquor. It would quite a past time, she was sure.

_And if I said that I didn't plan for it to turn out this way I'd be lying – because I was born to be the other woman. _

She felt the rain on her forehead. Her body went limp in the young man's arms. Her parents may have laughed at her running after that handsome rich student, but she had always known he would never be hers to hold. Maybe he would kiss her in her final moments? There was always hope. She was always the other woman. In the alleys. By the port. In his arms.

_I belonged to no one, who belonged to everyone, who had nothing, who wanted everything with a fire for every experience and an obsession for freedom that terrified me to the point that I couldn't even talk about, and pushed me to a nomadic point of madness that both dazzled and dizzied me._

She knew she was going delirious now because she thought she felt his lips on her forehead. Everything was going to be okay. She felt no pain for the first time in months. Maybe she was too impulsive? Dying for a man who did not love her. Dying for France and the ABC's beliefs. Or maybe, a ghost of a smile flittered on her face, maybe for all her teasing that marble statue of a man really could make a difference. Now she was definitely going mad...

_Every night I used to pray that I'd find my people, and finally I did, on the open road._

She could see them a little more clearly now. Little more than an arm's length away from her. Gavroche was there. Her darling brother. Her brave brother. They had come to help her find her way again. This was a new beginning.

_We have nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing we desire anymore – except to make our lives into a work of art._

Their work was done. They had staged the greatest show Paris had seen and stained the city with their blood. Maybe there was hope for the people she had left behind. Marius might get his happy ending. How she hoped he would. Maybe now, in this new place, she could become that beautiful poet she always dreamed of.

_Live Fast. Die Young. Be Wild. And Have Fun_

Her skin went deathly cold and pale. Gunshots still echoed around the barricade but she found she could not hear them anymore_._ Now she could live properly, away from the shackles of her father, from poverty, from her beloved. Now she was free.


End file.
